Spring-Pelt had lost count of time long ago. How long had it been? Hours? Days? Spring-Pelt didn't know every minute was just a blur of fur and flying fists. . Food was unnecessary. Sleep was not needed. Only the moon mattered, the moon with its beautiful white roundness. All Spring-Pelt needed to do was look at the moon and she would forget her pain, her troubles, her worries.
The cause of the fight had been forgotten. Spring-Pelt only remembered the red color of rage and a strong urge to sink her fangs into Shadow-Hide's throat. Spring-Pelt lowered a brown muzzle to the ground inhaling.
He was close she could feel it, but where? Out of nowhere a black shape pounced on her sinking it's fangs into her throat. Spring-pelt froze not daring to move a muscle in fear of the fangs ripping her throat out.
'Give up Spring-Pelt...I have won this fight you know it...' ShadowHide's voice whispered in her mind. Spring-Pelt gave up, she was tried, and not even her beloved moon could cure this tiredness.
'Where going back to Meita I feel something dangerous is going to happen to the unit.'
Spring-Pelt nodded, she was tired but she could muster up some energy to greet a friend. Both lunar wolves ran back to the unit at top speed.